As Viewed Through a Car Window

A rare, but
gratefully received, day of sunshine and relative mildness tugged me into the
bright green expanses of East Norfolk. The break in my lethargy did not extend
so far as to actually indulge in exercise - no walking involved today – but
instead I thought I would slowly drive along the many narrow lanes
spider-webbing the northern slopes of the Yare Valley to see what I could find.

First stop
the marshland near Acle where I hoped, vainly as it turned out, to catch sight
of a short-eared owl. Whilst no such yellow-eyed, sharp-taloned hunter gave
itself up, I was quite impressed with the large numbers of swans bedecking the
fields either side of the A47. Most were mute swans feasting on the tops of some
root crop, but in the distance I spotted a pair of Bewick’s swans and beyond
them it looked like several of the herd had rather straight necks; too far away
for any meaningful identification.

Ranks of
rooks and jackdaws, splattered like notes on a musical stave, probed the soft
earth of a field containing several shaggy horses. Above those of their number intent
on ridding the marshland of invertebrates, courting pairs flew. I watched some
of these lovers twisting and cavorting in the fresh February air, flinging
themselves through the void with abandon. The dancers would career towards one
another, banking to avoid a collision at the last possible moment, before plummeting
earthwards, regaining full control a few metres above terra firma to land
sedately amongst their brethren. I don’t
think I’ve ever consciously watched this behaviour before and admit to being
quite taken with their aerobatic prowess. Corvids are a common inhabitant of the
Yare Valley with many thousands littering the fields throughout the year. This
culminates in the amazing spectacle of huge numbers flocking to roost at
Buckenham, where in my youth, I used to like listening to their caws and yelps
as they commenced nesting during the lengthening days of March. The memory of
idly strolling across the damp marshes in the dusk of a late March day, the sun
slowly sinking into a wash of pinks and greys, the distant sounds of the rooks
and courting lapwings echoing across the expanse, will always be with me.
Perhaps it was some kind of heightened sense associated with youth, but I
remember almost being able to taste the changing season. When those kinds of
sensations fill your mind and body it leaves a mark; in this case a deep
affection for these lowland areas that still evoke feelings of space and the
wild.

Near Reedham
I simply had to stop the car to gaze at the wonderful sight of hosts of gulls
following a plough. Rank upon rank of white and grey birds milling around the
slowly moving tractor as so much paper tossed in the breeze. The black-headed
and common gulls were joined by more corvids, starlings and woodpigeons seeking
to take advantage of juicy morsels exposed by the newly turned earth. A lone
Chinese water deer patrolled the edges, presumably looking for succulent roots
on which to feed. So much life here.

At
Buckenham, wigeon brightened the ditch edges, all pristine, paired up and ready
for their flight north. Their breezy whistling always lifts the spirits.
Distant flocks of pink-footed and white-fronted geese were spooked by a marsh
warden, spiralling around, yelping and braying as they do, until they judged
the human far enough away to represent no threat; then returning to earth with
large feet and broad tails splayed out to brake the decent. And watching all of this from its perch in a
tree on the edge of a copse was a peregrine: the slate grey hunter that spends
the winter culling the abundant wildfowl. This bird sat sedately preening for
the duration of my stay, no doubt it had feasted well during the morning and
was in no hurry to seek further prey. It wouldn’t have to look far; hundreds of
wigeon, teal, shoveler, pipits and peewits went about their business within easy
striking distance: no more than a few beats of the peregrine’s powerful wings.

Welcome signs
today that spring, if not exactly sprung, is coiled and ready to pounce. It has
been quite difficult getting enthused about local wildlife after the bounty of
South America, but with the joyful melody of skylarks greeting the mild
afternoon I turned for home, quite content with what a late winter day here in
my humble homeland had provided. And all without getting out of the car.

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I live in Norfolk, I've always lived in Norfolk and will undoubtedly do so until this body of mine throws in the towel. I love wildlife and have done so since a very young age. Can't see that changing either. Having much time on my hands my aim now is to see as much wildlife as I can from as many places as I can afford to reach. The plan is to document some of my experiences and thoughts here for others to share.